


Touching Base

by twopinkcarnations



Category: Cheers (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drunk Sex, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinkcarnations/pseuds/twopinkcarnations
Summary: He knows she doesn’t want to go home to Nick, and she never stop complaining about her kids. She doesn’t really have an answer other than that sheknowsthat look he’s using on her. She’s seen it hundreds of times. Dozens of times, just from tonight. It was the look that said he’d made up his mind about what he wanted to do to—with, on, against—a woman.





	Touching Base

It only happened once. 

It was between Sam’s first attempts to get sober. Carla had watched him sway on his feet serving beer, but it didn’t stop him from picking up numbers and kisses all night. She shook her head, thinking back to that night a few days after the fact. What a waste. What a waste of a perfectly good hunk of man...

It’s their turn to close, and Coach leaves her with the keys because he doesn’t trust Sam with them anymore.

“Ready to go, Sammy?”

“In a minute.”

She watches him crack open a bottle of something that was already half-empty. She stares at his throat as he swallows gulp after gulp down. He probably didn’t even taste it.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

It snaps her out of her reverie, and she realizes she’s been caught caring—and staring—of all things. She tries not to look as embarrassed as she feels, but he smirks at her like he can see right through her. Right through her clothes and her skin. Right down to her bones or her soul.

“C’mon. I wanna go home, Sam.”

“No you don’t.”

He knows she doesn’t want to go home to Nick, and she never stop complaining about her kids. She doesn’t really have an answer other than that she _knows_ that look he’s using on her. She’s seen it hundreds of times. Dozens of times, just from tonight. It was the look that said he’d made up his mind about what he wanted to do to—with, on, against—a woman.

Sam moves towards her, and she’s suddenly hyper-aware of just how tall he is. This close, she can see he’s got two-day-old stubble and his shirt is untucked and his jeans haven’t been washed in who knew how long. He’s so close that he puts a hand on either side of her on the bar, and she knows she’s a goner the minute he looks down at her with those sleepy, boozy eyes.

He leans down to kiss her, and his tongue burns with mix of flavors of alcohol he’s downed. It’s a bitter taste, but she lets him kiss her because he’s warm, and she doesn’t want to go home to her shitty husband and her snotty kids. Sam moves his hands from the bar to her waist, and he lifts her up onto the counter like she weighed no more than a loaf of bread. It’s kind of the hottest thing that’s ever happened to her. (At least at Cheers.)

Sam leans in to kiss her, and it’s easier now that they’re on the same level. He was such a gentleman like that, wanting them to be equal and all. Equally able to kiss each other and pull at shirts and buttons. She liked that about Sam. She never had to worry about him taking advantage.

“Are you sure about this, Sam?” she asks.

He pulls his mouth away from hers to grin. He grabs her hand.

“You tell me,” he says.

“You’ve been drinkin’,” she says.

“I do that every day.”

“I’d feel bad if I didn’t try to talk you out of it.”

“Well don’t.”

And he says it nonchalant. Like he doesn’t care that he gets anywhere from tipsy to blackout night after night. He’s still lucid; she can tell. His eyes aren’t swimming, and he’s not slurring too bad. So what the hell, right?

“Okay. Twist my arm,” she jokes.

It makes him laugh. He’s got a great laugh. So deep and warm. Like you were in on the joke with him. Not like Nick at all, who always made her feel like she was the butt of the joke, even when he was the ass.

Sam pulls her pants down, and then Carla remembers an important detail.

“Wait, wait, Sam.”

“What?” he says into the side of her neck.

“Do you go something?”

“Shit, uh…” He pats his pockets and comes up empty. “Hold on.”

He goes into the back office, and she can hear him rummaging through all the boxes of junk he’s got stored up in there. Why did he keep so much crap back there anyway? She’d have to go snooping in there one day when no one was looking…

“Got it!” he shouts.

And she’s relieved. She’s so revved up, she knows she’d go home and sleep with Nick.

Sam moves in and kisses her again before pulling away to say, “Where were we?”

It takes him a few tries to get his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, but she helps him, and he’s grateful. He rips open the foil packaging with his teeth and tosses the wrapper over his shoulder. It’s the second hottest thing that’s ever happened to her. (At Cheers.)

She watches him slip it on no problem.

“Oh, _that_ you’ve got no trouble with?”

He laughs and pulls her close.

“I’ve had _a lot_ of practice.”

Carla tries to think of something witty, but then he’s pushing himself inside her, and she forgets every mild insult and every silly joke she’s ever hurled at him. She’d always assumed half of his stories had been all talk, but now she’s got proof. Sam knew what he was doing.

“This okay? This good?” he asks.

And shit, nobody ever asked her that kind of shit before. She wraps her arms around his neck so he can’t see her eyes well up as she says, “Yeah,” so he’ll finally start moving for real.

Because now it was real.

It was all fun and games when she thought she was just gonna be another notch in Mayday Malone’s bedpost, but now she knows he’s gonna be all sweet with her, and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Oh, baby, baby, honey, baby,” he says in rapid fire speech against her ear.

She digs her nails into his back and moves with him. It feels so good to be with someone who wanted to know she was comfortable and called her dumb stupid idiotic perfect pet names like he meant it. And maybe he didn’t, but damn, he was a good faker. A very good faker.

“Carla, sweetie…”

Nobody can fake it that good.

So maybe it only lasts a few sweaty minutes, but Sam was an expert at two things: baseball and babes. And she could safely say he knocked it out of the park tonight.

He pulls out carefully and discards the evidence in the trashcan on the other side of the bar. She’d have to remember to put garbage on top of it tomorrow morning before anyone saw. 

“Help me down?” she says once she’s caught her breath.

“Right, right.”

He puts her down nice and easy, and she fixes her clothes. She watches him pull up his boxers and jeans over his nice little tush. She’d probably never see it again, so she might as well satisfy her curiosity. Carla notices that he’s smiling at her.

“What are you grinnin’ about, Malone?”

“Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about how much I like you.”

She grabs her purse and coat off the table. She points her car keys at his chest.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, pal.”

Sam holds his hands up in surrender.

“Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Carla.”

She gets to the door before turning around to say, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Because it was hard to tell with Sam. He might go on a bender and disappear for three days or a month.

“You will.”

Carla breathes a sigh when she pulls her car away from the curb and finally makes her way home. Until it hits her.

She’d left Sam alone at the bar with Coach’s keys. And he’d probably snagged them when he was pulling off her pants. She slams her fist on her steering wheel.

Men were pigs.


End file.
